The One Man to Heal Her. Meredith Webber

married, that’s nice. Kids?’

      The twinkle disappeared and Will’s open, friendly face went completely blank.

      ‘Let’s get you a drink first.’

      He was on his feet, waiting for her order.

      On his feet too quickly?

      Far too quickly!

      Get with it, Alex!

      ‘G and T in a long glass, please.’

      That’s better. Or it would have been if she hadn’t watched him walk towards the bar, seeing the breadth of his shoulders and how his back sloped down to slim hips and—

      You will not look at his butt! The man is married, he is off limits, he’s nothing more than an old—not exactly friend but someone she had known quite well.

      It’s just that he’s the first familiar face you’ve seen that you’re reacting this way.

      He brought her drink and a small bowl of cashews for them to share, then settled back down at the table, this time looking out at the stretch of beach.

      Do I ask again? Alex wondered, as an uneasy silence hovered around them.

      ‘I’m a single father,’ he began, still staring out along the beach. ‘My wife died when Charlotte was born—cancer—Charlotte’s three and a half.’

      Will turned back to his companion as he spoke, aware of how stiff and remote he must have sounded as he’d blurted out his story.

      Lack of practice in telling it—he knew that. Telling it was one of the reasons he’d avoided going out—telling it hurt …

      Had she felt that pain—heard it in his voice—that her fingers, cold and slightly damp from the glass, reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze?

      ‘Oh, Will,’ she said softly. ‘I cannot imagine what pain that must have caused you—and what a loss it must have been. We see awful things every day in our work, yet we somehow think we’re immune to it.’

      She hesitated, her fingers tightening on his hand.

      ‘Do you want to talk about it—to tell me?’

      And suddenly he did. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for Alex to return—or someone like Alex to come along—so he could put it all together and let it all out, releasing some of the terrible tension he’d carried inside his body for so long.

      ‘We met as students, married after graduation then waited a while to have kids—an intern’s life is appalling so we were hardly ever together. Then, when we decided to have a family, Elise, her name was Elise, was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was three months pregnant. It was a very aggressive strain and the specialists wanted her to abort the baby and get immediate treatment. She refused, knowing the treatment would leave her sterile.’

      He paused but Alex kept quiet, perhaps sensing there was more.

      ‘We fought about it, Alex,’ he finally added, looking into the blue eyes across the table from him, seeing her understanding and concern. “That’s what hurts so much now, that I fought her over this, said terrible things.’

      ‘But only out of love,’ Alex said quietly, and he knew she understood.

      ‘She wouldn’t accept any treatment or even pain relief that would have crossed the placenta and harmed the baby, and by the last month of the pregnancy she was in a coma—treatment was too late.’

      Alex sipped her drink, knocked flat by the deep pain behind Will’s simple tale. To her, in that first year at the Armitages’, Will had always seemed like part of the family. And, perhaps because of the family link, he’d been totally unthreatening, unlike the youths and young men she’d see on the street or in the park—males who’d make some casual remark, not really even aimed at her, but enough to make her cringe and scurry back home with the twins.

      Will had just been Will, studying medicine because, she suspected, he’d idolised Dave and Isobel.

      Now the pain he’d had in his life made her heart ache for him.

      No wonder he’d grown up …

      ‘So, your daughter?’

      His smile lit up his face.

      It did weird things to her insides too, but she could ignore them.

      ‘Charlotte,’ he said simply. ‘She’s the greatest—a precious gift—she’s why we came back here to Port. Look, here’s a photo.’

      Alex waited while he pulled out his wallet and dug in the folds, and she wondered if he was giving himself time to get over the memories of his wife’s death.

      The small, wallet-sized photo, showed a little girl with a mop of brown curls and a smile that could melt stone. Alex’s breathing faltered as she looked at the beautiful child. Mr Spencer had stolen more than her innocence, he’d stolen her ability to get close enough to a man to want a sexual relationship, let alone a child.

      But Will was speaking again and she switched off the futile regrets to listen.

      ‘Mum minds her when I’m at work, although I’ve built a separate flat in Mum’s house so we’re independent a lot of the time.’

      The happiness faded from his face.

      ‘It worries me, though, that I rely so much on Mum. Now she’s retired she should be out doing things, not minding a nearly four-year-old.’

      ‘I bet she’s fine with that,’ Alex told him, and touched the hand that still held the photo, just gently …

      ‘She says so and it will be easier when Charlotte goes to kindy next year, then school—’

      ‘And then, whoosh—they’re gone from your life.’

      His smile wasn’t the worst one she’d ever seen, but it was close, yet even the weak effort affected Alex.

      Jet-lag—it had to be!

      Jet-lag and seeing a familiar face, that’s all that was going on.

      She let go of his hand and concentrated on her drink.

      ‘So, tell me about you,’ he said, and she knew her own smile would be even weaker than his had been.

      In so many ways it was a success story, yet—

      ‘Perhaps we should eat,’ she suggested, hoping a move from this table—any kind of movement—might …

      What? Make him forget he’d asked?

      Or break the sense of intimacy—it had to be a false intimacy because of the past—that seemed to be enclosing them.

      ‘We can talk over food,’ she added, because she knew she’d been far too abrupt.

      Will stood up with such alacrity she had to believe he’d felt it too. He led her into another part of the room where most of the diners already finishing their meals, lingering over dessert or last drinks.

      ‘Tell me about Charlotte—favourite games, toys, books,’ she said, when a waiter had ushered them to a table and slid serviettes onto their laps.

      Will grinned at her, which kind of undid a lot of what the move had accomplished, in that a different kind of tension had appeared, tightening her skin and skidding along her nerves.

      ‘You’re supposed to be telling me about you,’ he reminded her.

      Alex waved away his objection but he ignored the gesture.

      ‘No way, you tell first,’ he ordered, waggling his finger at her, like a teacher with a reluctant pupil.

      ‘Here’s the short version,’ Alex said. ‘You’d gone south to finish your degree before I left the Armitages’, but I got that scholarship